Thoughtless
by beneathmyskin
Summary: Erik delves into a deep despair, what crosses the mind of the former Phantom? One-Shot. Reviews and Flames welcome.


**Authors Note: **Hello everyone ;. You may have seen my reviews here or there, but this is my first attempt at a Phantom fan fiction. Not my first fiction, believe me. My first one was _horrible. _Well anyways, I have a slight confession. I have only read part of the book, seen the movie and read the lyrics for the play. I tried to do as much research as I could to make this a good story with factual information. If you spot anything inaccurate, please inform me. Reviews and Constructive Criticism are welcome. Flames, if you dislike it that much, are welcome as well. It will give me a slight laugh considering 85 of flames are actually kind of funny. Well let me shut up and read on.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'The Phantom of the Opera' or any of the places, characters, excreta. Now people put away the lawyers.

* * *

'_I've been looking in the mirror for so long._

_That I've come to believe my souls on the other side._

_Oh the little pieces falling, shatter._

_Shards of me,_

_To sharp to put back together._

_To small to matter,_

_But big enough to cut me into so many little pieces.'_

- Evanescence 'Breathe No More'

Tears, a shameless resort to self-pity or a true distressed cry for help.

'_Never. None of this ever happened. I'm still just a lonely boy in a metal cage crying for a mother that never existed.' _

Erik seemed to float in the shadows, as if a true ghost. A ghost who wavered between heaven and hell. She was gone, forever a cold, heartless memory of what could have been. One simple choice, and now his entire soul seemed drowned in a rage so deep; it turned to a dark despair.

He abandoned the opera house. Thankfully he did so before what little sanity he had burned under the flames of so many raw emotions.

The opera house would have had many unfortunate accidents.

Slowly, the excruciating pain crept from his soul to the rest of his material body. Lack of slumber, nutrition, or any other normal human needs chipped at his already frail health. It seemed as if he was purposely putting himself through a slow suicide that would repent for all the sins that he committed.

'God wants salvation for all of humanity. He wants our penance, I hope hell welcomes me as if I was a late guest.'

Passing by dim windows, dusted by the frost, flakes of perfect snow began to fall under a misty, starless night. Perfection was something Erik had a deep desire for, deep in his heart. It was an unknown desire, but his mind at times wondered to the questions never put to rest.

What if his face, the body he had was not as hideous or as fearsome as many people saw it to be?

What if the Vicomte, the boy Erik loathed so, never met his angel and scarred her mind with thoughts of perfection and happiness?

What if she said she loved him? What if she appeared in front of him, like a bright beacon of light in the menacing sky of dark clouds? What if they were to live in marital bliss in the solitude of the world? Oh the joys of finally feeding on that forbidden fruit!

He was slowly reminded of the bitterness that was his reality and quickly banished all thought all hope of his beloved Christine returning to him. It was a murky future ahead for him at least, with the promise of many more days of agony and pain.

Something snapped in his mind, why was he mourning the loss of her so? He spent years divulging in fantasies and thoughts of _his _angel becoming the Prima Donna of _his _opera house. This was all true. His love and passion for her was deeper then any childish love, marital love, or lust could even come close to. She betrayed him and left with what was convenient for her own good. Why was he mourning so? Shouldn't he be enraged so that the saints in heaven or the demons in hell could not stop his wrath for revenge? What was so enticing, so warm about this girl? He was her angel music. Shouldn't she be mourning him as well?

Erik would never know if Christine truly loved him. If that _boy _was only a mask to hide behind. A mask that would protect her from the harshness of the world that she had only tasted. Her innocence never left those eyes. Until the day she fell to contempt with reality, that innocence would never leave.

Abiding slowly down the dark Parisian streets, Erik felt helpless now. He spent literally days in a dark depression, not seeing any kind of light at the end. Suicide crossed his mind a few times, but that was too painless. A light punishment for the sins he had committed. No, a long slow torturous end worthy of all the pain he caused. So the ghost continued down the seemingly endless walkways, not knowing where they would lead. It was a hope in his bitter heart that the Persian would maybe spot him, this living corpse. Take in the frail being and bring him to his senses.

Love of all things destroyed him. Not death, not destruction but love. Wasn't love supposed to be a warm, inviting thing all look forward to? Love was forbidden from him, and loathed every moment without that feeling of love. For such a cold creature, Erik rather enjoyed love. But love turned to obsession.

'That is why she left, I am nothing more then a disfigured madman with a lust for blood and obsessed with something I cannot have. Christine is better off in life. She will be, happy.'

Ironically, his days of wandering placed him back on the front steps of the very Opera house he left to forget all painful memories. Now, he arrived to his place of fate. His very soul was born here; it shall die here as well.

'Many say that from ashes, a new fire can spring, but when the fires of hell seem more inviting then the light of heaven, my ashes needn't re-kindle, but wisp away with the winter breeze.'

With that thought, he disappeared into the Opera's cellars, for what many would believe to be the last time.


End file.
